Take them, and welcome.

With earthly food I have wellnigh done." Dalgetty did not wait for a second invitation, but, groping out the provisions, began to munch at the stale black oaten loaf with as much heartiness as we have seen him play his part at better viands.
"This bread," he said, muttering (with his mouth full at the same time), "is not very savoury; nevertheless, it is not much worse than that which we ate at the famous leaguer at Werben, where the valorous Gustavus foiled all the efforts of the celebrated Tilly, that terrible old hero, who had driven two kings out of the field--namely, Ferdinand of Bohemia and Christian of Denmark.

And anent this water, which is none of the most sweet, I drink in the same to your speedy deliverance, comrade, not forgetting mine own, and devoutly wishing it were Rhenish wine, or humming Lubeck beer, at the least, were it but in honour of the pledge." While Dalgetty ran on in this way, his teeth kept time with his tongue, and he speedily finished the provisions which the benevolence or indifference of his companion in misfortune had abandoned to his voracity.

When this task was accomplished, he wrapped himself in his cloak, and seating himself in a corner of the dungeon in which he could obtain a support on each side (for he had always been an admirer of elbow-chairs, he remarked, even from his youth upward), he began to question his fellow-captive.
"Mine honest friend," said he, "you and I, being comrades at bed and board, should be better acquainted.

I am Dugald Dalgetty of Drumthwacket, and so forth, Major in a regiment of loyal Irishes, and Envoy Extraordinary of a High and Mighty Lord, James Earl of Montrose .-- Pray, what may your name be ?" "It will avail you little to know," replied his more taciturn companion.
"Let me judge of that matter," answered the soldier.
"Well, then--Ranald MacEagh is my name--that is, Ranald Son of the Mist." "Son of the Mist!" ejaculated Dalgetty.